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Subject: {ASSM} The Disgrace of the Pretentious Babysitter
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Date: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 08:10:03 -0500
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The Disgrace of the Pretentious Babysitter
by AnnityFair

"You seem uncomfortable. Perhaps it is due to the stuffy clothes
you're wearing. Boys! Undress her!" commanded 10-year-old Amy.

Her little brothers sprang into action. They had already pushed
Ann into a corner and tickled her shirt-tail out of her long,
tight skirt. It was a small matter to convert the act of tickling
into one of unfastening. Chuckie -- the taller of the two (he was
8) -- stood on his tiptoes and started to unbutton Ann's light
blue sleeveless shirt, while 5-year-old Chad reached behind her
and began unzipping her knee length white pleated skirt.

The zipper opened easily. Pleat after pleat of starchy skirt
tilted and fell past Chad's palm, giving way to a curve of
buttock draped in a nylon slip's smoothness. Across this slippery
surface the little boy ran his hand in a circular motion that
spiraled outward, shoving the open skirt further south with each
sweep of the palm, until the unfastened garment, pushed down to
the slip's lacy hem at mid-thigh, dropped to the rug. As Chad's
hand ran riot over her now skirtless rear, feeling through her
slip the pantylines spanning her waist and thighs, Ann was
totally occupied defending her shirt, trying to force Chuckie's
hands away from its line of buttons. She was down to her three
topmost ones before she managed to grab the 8-year-olds hands,
and even the fall of her skirt could not distract her from the
duty of keeping the little boy from seeing her bra. But then,
eyeing his babysitter's bare belly, Chuckie leaned forward,
pressed his lips against her belly button just above her slip's
waistband, and made as if he was blowing a trumpet. The blast of
air so tickled Ann that the skirtless babysitter bent forward
with laughter, causing her to release Chuckie's hands in order to
protect her ticklish belly.

That's when the naughty little boy stepped to the side, grabbed
two fistfuls of the back of Ann's shirt, and pulled as hard as he
could. Next thing he knew, he was on his back, on the oriental
rug, his babysitter's shirt in his hands, a calamitous-sounding
RIP still reverberating in his ears. Chad plopped down next to
him, holding his babysitter's skirt, and a laughing Amy hugged
her brothers from behind.

The three children stared at their bossy babysitter, as she stood
there in her underwear, her head bowed in shame, eyes gazing at
her semi-bare body in disbelief. Standing before the kids in her
white bra and half slip, Ann not only felt totally embarrassed
about her lack of clothing, but was mortified that the first
stirrings of arousal were causing her loins to tingle. It was a
terrible predicament: modesty demanded that she throw one forearm
over her bra-covered breasts, the other across the front of her
panties -- clearly visible through the thin fabric of her slip --
yet she knew that if her limbs accidentally brushed against the
nylon-covered private parts, the slightest touch of nipple or
crotch would fill her with such lust that only hours of
self-pleasuring could cool her ardor. In this shame-induced
sexually-heightened state, even the rubbing together of her
pantyhosed thighs -- a necessary concomitant of her fleeing the
children's prying eyes -- could kindle an orgasm, so running away
was out of the question. Silently cursing the wrong-way linkage
between pleasure and shame that her over-protective parents had
inadvertently forged in her brain, she stood as rigid as a
soldier at attention, her arms at her side, helpless to prevent
the children from feasting on the sight of her underwear-clad
body.

Next thing she knew, Amy had taken her by the hand and was
leading her outdoors. "I think you need some fresh air, you look
so tense," the little girl explained.

"Amy, I can't go outside dressed like this," Ann whispered,
extracting her hand from Amy's at the front door's threshold. But
the little girl merely reached over to Ann's bare navel and slid
her fingers beneath the waistband of her slip, and under that of
her pantyhose and panties as well. Curling her fingers around the
three waistbands, she made a fist, then turned away and continued
out the front door, dragging her babysitter behind her. Ann
opened her mouth to protest, but a moan of pleasure blew past her
lips instead as the stretched-out front of her panties -- their
wispy nylon now rendered taut as a trampoline by Amy's employment
of that rarest of wedgies, the horizontal front -- parted her
shame-sensitized loins and bounced against their moist innards
like an ardent lover. Since the pain of being outside in her
underwear paled next to the dazzling pleasure of clitoral
stimulation, Ann followed meekly in Amy's footsteps across the
suburban front lawn, with the two little carefree boys bringing
up the rear of the parade.

Fortunately it was dark, but even in her sex-crazed state Ann
knew that she was now close enough to the road to bring motorists
to a screeching halt; thus she brought up her hands and covered
her face, in hopes that whoever saw her would not recognize her.

Yet Amy had no intention of sharing her life-sized doll, so when
the first headlights appeared at the end of the street, Ann found
herself hauled back toward the house at a furious speed -- even
so, the glimpse the driver got of a teenage girl in her
oh-so-proper underwear being dominated by children half her age
would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Back indoors, Ann was pulled waistband-first up the stairs and
into the bathroom, the scent of bubblebath reminding her that she
had already prepared the youngest child's bath. By now the
relentless tugging of the front of Ann's three waistbands had
stretched the fabric of her undergarments so thin that the
outlines of her pubic hair showed through clearly in the
bathroom's glaring light.. "For such a uptight bitch, you're very
hairy down there," Amy commented, causing her babysitter to look
away in shame. With a great downward tug of the front of the
babysitter's underwear, Amy brought Ann to her knees, on the cool
bathroom titles, before finally loosening her grip. Yet instead
of snapping back into place, her stretched-out slip, pantyhose,
and panty elastics sagged, sending the three layers of
undergarment descending en masse to puddle around her knees, just
as Amy unfastened her back bra-clasp and with a flourish unveiled
the babysitter's ample bosom, a sight greeted with gasps of
delight by the boys.

Pocketing the bra, Amy commanded, "Bring your hands down from her
eyes." Ann complied, and for the first time realized that she was
kneeling before the children stark naked.

"Oh Amy, I've never been so humiliated!" Ann moaned, falling over
into the fetal position.

"The night's young," said Smart-Ass Amy. "But perhaps a warm bath
will finally relax you." The little girl pulled off her
babysitter's black high-heeled shoes, then freed her legs from
the nylon entanglements of her pulled-down underwear and hosiery.

"All right, you truculent child" conceded the naked babysitter.
"But just for a few minutes -- this bath is supposed to be for
you. I'm the babysitter, and you're the child, don't ever forget
that," Ann pointed out pedantically.

"Yes, but who's naked right now and who's clothed? The power has
shifted to us, hasn't it?"

"There's no true power without Reason," Ann replied as she
stepped into the tub. "Someday you'll understand that." Glancing
at the kids, she noticed they were all staring at her. "Do you
mind?" she asked them, pointing to the bathroom door. "And kindly
leave my bra, panties, and slip on the doorknob on the way out,
OK?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Alone at last, the bathing babysitter slipped into an erotic
reverie, and began to pleasure herself. She would need a clear
head to outsmart the wily Amy, and the only way to achieve such
mental clarity was to release all the sexual tension that had
been building every since Chad began making a spectacle of her by
pulling on her skirt zipper and bringing the radiance of her slip
into public view. With a bar of soap she brought herself to
climax many times, reasoning that she needed to purge herself of
every iota of mind-clouding erotic energy, before she could
return to being a Sage of Reason. Finally, totally spent, she
closed her eyes to rest a bit, before the resumption of the great
battle of wits that she knew awaited her on the other side of
that bathroom door....

A loud knock awakened her. Then a male voice, from the other side
of the door. Amy's Dad! "How long have I been in here," Ann
thought, rising from the now-cool bath water.

"Hi Ann, I just wanted to know that I got your note about the
kids being perfect angels and going to bed early and you taking
the liberty of having a bath. Mrs. Little and I are about to turn
in, so we just wanted to thank you and remind you that your
money's in an envelope on the kitchen table. Good night!"

"Okay, okay, you're very welcome sir!" Ann was now out of the tub
and looking for something with which to dry herself. But that
scamp Amy had hidden all of the towels. But at least her
underwear was still draped over the doorknob. She wormed her damp
feet into her pantyhose and in another minute stood preening
before the full-length mirror, admiring the effect of tan
pantyhose, white full-cut panties, and matching bra. Fastidiously
she brought her loosened-but-still-intact panty and pantyhose
waistbands into alignment, then up came her half slip, whose own
waistband now needed straightening. Finally, after much snapping
of nylon and smoothing of furrows, Ann's underwear ensemble was
in order. Yet -- though resplendent in its pristine whiteness and
expressive of rationality in its careful arrangement of its
multiple waistbands -- underwear was still underwear. Where was
the rest of her clothes?

The 17-year-old babysitter punched herself in the forehead with
the heel of her hand for forgetting to ask the kids to bring her
skirt and blouse from the living room to the bathroom. No doubt
these expensive garments were still in a heap on the oriental
rug, marking the spot where little Chad and Chuckie had forcibly
undressed her. Now she had to sneak downstairs, risking being
seen in her bra and half slip. If glimpsed, how could she explain
becoming so separated from her clothes?

A furtive glance into the hallway revealed the coast was clear.
Breaking into a fast gallop, she sped down the stairs and into
the living room to scoop up her outer clothing. But her blouse
and skirt were nowhere to be seen. "Oh the Amy!" Ann fumed.
Hearing the creak of someone coming down the stairs, she panicked
and shot through the kitchen, grabbed the envelope on the table,
flung open the backdoor, and dashed across the backyard to her
own house, her underwear gleaming in the moonlight. Fearing the
wrath of her parents if they spotted her returning home so
scantily dressed, the intrepid babysitter avoided the door and
instead climbed the big tree with the branch that soared right up
beside her bedroom window. Luckily, the window opened easily, and
Ann alighted on her bed, finally out of shame's reach.

She was standing before the mirror in her underwear -- which had
been reduced to tatters by the rough bark of the tree -- shaking
her head and calculating whether tonight's payment would
compensate for the ruination of her bra, slip, and panties, when
something caught her eye through the bedroom window. Turning, she
leaned her elbows on the windowsill and gazed across the
backyard, to the window facing hers on the neighboring home:
Amy's window, where the little girl stood, waving Ann's stolen
blouse and skirt while laughing at the sight of her
once-imperious babysitter reduced to her tattered undergarments,
her pink nipples and dark thatch of pubic hair clearly visible
through the white shreds of her once-pristine bra, slip, and
panty.

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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